


Sleep

by Tumbleweed_run



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:38:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10036499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tumbleweed_run/pseuds/Tumbleweed_run
Summary: Sherlock just can't let Rosie cry herself to sleep.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [headcanon](https://bakingsherlycakes.tumblr.com/post/157810021295/you-know-who-cant-stand-it-when-rosie-cries-at)

It had just gone ten when a small whimper erupted into the silence in the living room of 221B Baker Street. Both John and Sherlock were still awake, John finally getting around to reading the day’s paper and Sherlock doing something on the laptop. At that first sound, Sherlock immediately paused his furious typing, muscles suddenly going tense. John held his breath and waited.

A second proper cry crackled through the monitor.

Before John could even think to say something Sherlock was out of his chair and bounding up the stairs. “It’s alright, Watson. I’m here.” His voice came over the monitor only a few seconds later.

John sighed and resigned himself to having this conversation… again.

It had started months and months ago when Mary was alive and on the run. John and Rosie had temporarily moved in with Sherlock, John unable to function in a place that reminded him of his anger every second of every day. Rosie was still waking twice a night to eat at that point and as soon as she would let out the slightest whimper, Sherlock would either make sure John was going to tend to her or rush off himself. He preferred bringing her down and making the bottle (or John making the bottle) rather than preparing one first and taking it up to her.

John had assumed it was Sherlock’s unfamiliarity with living with an infant that had him jumping like that, or perhaps he simply didn’t like the crying.

When Sherlock lived with them in John’s old house, after the explosion, he would often reach the nursery before John could manage to get out of bed. John had been content let the whole thing lie after he reassured Sherlock he didn’t have to care for the baby.

Now, though, now Rosie was fifteen months and _still_ didn’t sleep through the night. She was capable of it of course, but she saw no need because as soon as she cried her _Lah-Lah_ came to her rescue. John knew that was why she still woke every night, sometimes multiple times, and Sherlock no doubt knew it too.

John had brought it up for the first time only a few days after her birthday. He’d only told Sherlock that their lives had settled and it was time for Rosie to develop a healthier sleep schedule. That same night she woke at midnight and Sherlock was in the room by her second cry. The next morning John had armed himself with studies on infant sleep patterns in an effort to appeal to Sherlock’s scientific nature.

Sherlock had managed to listen to her cry for an impressive two minutes, but then Rosie pulled out the dirtiest of tricks. “Lah-lah” she’d hiccoughed out between wails. The noise that had ripped from Sherlock’s throat startled John enough he didn’t even try to stand in between the detective and the stairwell.

That had been their first (and last) go at letting her cry it out.

Fifteen minutes had passed before Sherlock reappeared in the living room. He cast a quick glance at John, face sheepish, before walking back to his chair.

“Sherlock,” John said as soon as he’d sat.

Sherlock sighed, realizing they were going to have another chat about it. “John.”

“Sherlock.” John began again. “You’ve read the articles, I know you have, and you know it’s appropriate for her to self-soothe at this age. She’s got to learn.”

“She cries.” Was Sherlock’s only argument and he offered no further explanation.

“Yes.” John conceded. “She will cry, but that’s only because she’s learned it’s how she gets her way. One cry and someone comes running for.”

Sherlock groaned, frustrated, and stood. He paced a small circle in front of his chair. “Why does it matter?” He asked after a moment. “I’m more than happy to tend to her at night. Why does it matter?”

“Forever?” John asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” Sherlock insisted.

“Sherlock…” John started, about to point out the flaws in that plan, but another frustrated growl ripped from the detective’s throat.

“She’s alone, John. She wakes up _alone_ in the _dark._ ” Sherlock finally stopped pacing and looked at John while he said this. There was a look in the other man’s eyes that had John’s heart in his throat.

John realized his mistake then. Not even science and facts could touch the parts of Sherlock’s mind that were pure and raw emotion.  

“I was alone so often as a child. Even when there were people around, I always felt so… alone.” Sherlock murmured, it didn’t appear he was speaking to John anymore.  “As an adult, too.”

“Sherlock,” John said softly as he stood, he carefully took the other man’s hand.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped back to John. “You were the first person in a very long time that made me… not alone.”

John swallowed down the lump in his throat.

“She isn’t alone.” Sherlock continued stepping closer, his eyes pleading. “Please, she needs to know she’s not alone.”

“Alright,” John said, and his voice was rough with emotion. “Alright.” It came out firmer the second time.

“Alright?” Sherlock repeated a hopeful look sparking in his eyes.

John nodded, and Sherlock lit up all over now.

“But,” John said and immediately cursed at himself as he watched Sherlock deflate from that one syllable. “She still needs to learn how to self-soothe _, but_ I’m sure we can find something that’s agreeable for us all.”

Sherlock’s joy had come back by the time John had finished his speech, and he bobbed his head almost violently in agreement. “I’ll start researching.” He exclaimed and eagerly grabbed the laptop.

John huffed out a chuckle and settled back into his own chair deciding it really wasn’t the end of the world if Rosie still woke a few times during the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I take prompts and requests on [my tumblr](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


End file.
